


Falling Like Ashes

by allpowerfullou



Category: EXO (Band), K-pop
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Falling In Love, Fucking With Feelings, Hate to Love, Heartbreak, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Reminiscing, Smoking, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, bottom! kris, downhill spiral, struggling to cope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-27 00:16:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2671793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allpowerfullou/pseuds/allpowerfullou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He simply watched with a face as empty and white as the city before him, the ashes of his cigarette crumbling from the stick and fluttering to the ground. Almost identical to the way Sehun did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling Like Ashes

“I want to die." A statement said with the utmost certainty in the world filtered through Yifan’s brain before soft lips pressed against his. It was enough to pull him from his deep slumber into a barely awake, confused state. It was the kind of confusion similar to waking up from a nap, but feeling as if he had slept for a month. His head was spinning.

In moments, it was all gone. He was alone once again, left to wonder if that was a dream or if someone was actually there. The only thing he could hear was the blood rushing through his sleep-logged body. His head ached. His stomach churned. Something about it felt too real for that haunting experience to be a dream.

"Fuck," his voice, raspy and deeper with sleep, filled the silent, empty room.

In a feeble attempt to forget the ghostly encounter, he squeezed his eyes shut, praying for mind numbing sleep, and pulled the thick duvet over his head. But he knew all too well that it wouldn’t work and after a few moments he threw the blanket off, grabbed his cigarettes, and hurried out for a smoke.

The back stairwell to the roof, painted with memories of midnight smoke breaks and secret make out sessions, felt all too familiar as he climbed the now unused staircase.

The apartment building had an elevator and a main stairwell, but during Yifan’s exploration of the building when he moved there four years prior, he had stumbled into the old stairwell, the stairs that were most likely used by staff when the apartment building was a hotel half a century before. The staircase, like the buildings past, lay forgotten and neglected, until Yifan and Sehun had begun to use them exclusively. And just as they were beginning to be used, they were once again forgotten in a silent vow as Yifan declared he wouldn’t use them again. He hadn’t smoked in months. He hadn’t climbed these stairs in months. Yifan simply didn’t want to relive the memories that came beautifully intertwined with the secret spots in the building. It was hard enough to live in the same apartment, the same room, but these little personal areas that saw his weakest sides; it was too much.

The heavy steel door looked foreign and sterile. Yifan hesitated, running his fingers down the familiar metal. More memories. Each one more painful than the last. He chewed nervously on the tip of his tongue as he gently pushed the door open. The wind greeted him with forlorn, frosty December kisses as his body shifted into autopilot, leading him to the edge of the roof. The city below was coated in a soft, untouched blanket of fluffy snow. No one was out wandering the streets, preferring their warm homes to the chilled city.

Smart people, he thought bitterly.

He wished could have been curled up in blankets with Sehun pressed into him as they slept peacefully, instead he was too tired but too awake to do anything other sit on the freezing roof, the pack of cigarettes loosely clutched in his too large hand.

Yifan’s heart seemed to pound in his chest as he anxiously looked down over the city, a god-like feeling creeping over him. He felt so powerful and in control up here. That’s probably how Sehun felt too.

Actually he knew for a fact that’s how Sehun felt. The younger boy mentioned it once or twice as he stood on the edge, slowly leaning further and further, inching closer to his death. And every time Yifan would simply take another drag of his cigarette and watch as Sehun pushed closer and closer to his inevitable fall. That was the only time he ever felt in control. When he held his own fragile life in his hands, trying not to let it fall and break, because he knew all too well he wouldn’t be able to fix it.

Memories fucking suck, Yifan quickly acknowledged this idea as he shoved a cigarette between his tightly pressed lips and lit it with shaky hands. He hummed in contentment at the familiar burn in the back of his throat, and a wave of nausea fell over him. It was more than the cigarette, though. It was the familiarity of the scene. Deep inside he knew he hadn’t hummed like that since he’d been with Sehun. The familiar twist of his stomach as the memory of cold, curious hands spread wide across his chest and left him a panting mess within minutes—the things that kid could do to him, and the things he could get him to do. Yifan had never been on his knees for anyone until Sehun came parading through his life, a trail of self-loathing and mental warfare following right behind him.

Sehun was fucked up for a kid who was barely nineteen when they met. Sehun was fucked up for a kid who was barely twenty when they last saw each other. He came fast, and left even faster. Daddy issues, mommy issues, school problems, shitty friends, a deep pool of depression—just some of the problems which caused Oh Sehun to show up at Wu Yifan’s doorstep at two a.m., sobbing hysterically as he tried to keep himself from collapsing on the floor.

Yifan just didn’t know what he was getting himself into when he unknowingly let the emotional mess crash on his couch, and later in his bed. It all began with sweet words and salty tears. The boy didn't actually seem that bad. He just needed someone to care.

"Sometimes, I just feel so lost and alone," Sehun once confessed while they were sitting on the couch at four in the morning.

He stared at the television, not daring to make eye contact with Yifan, fearing that he would be met with a judgemental look.

Instead, Yifan's face softened as he took in the side profile of the boy beside him. The sharp jaw, squinted eyes, dull nose; all of the perfect features of the imperfect Sehun.

"I think everyone feels like that. Some people just have a harder time adjusting than others," Sehun noticeably tensed, shutting himself down as quickly as he had opened up, "But hey, there's nothing wrong with you. And you're not alone anymore. You have me now. I don't take in just any sobbing kid." Yifan nudged Sehun's arm, trying to get him to relax again.

Sehun glanced up at him with large, wide eyes.

"But what if I never get over this feeling, Yifan? I just, I hate feeling like this," his voice was soft, but the older man was focusing on him so intently it was the only thing he could hear.

Soon the television was forgotten as Yifan was pulling Sehun into his arms and hugging him tightly.

"I can't imagine myself getting old," the younger man murmured against Yifan's chest, not even sure if he was loud enough to hear.

The only reason Sehun knew he heard was the slight shift of Yifan as he hugged Sehun closer, as if trying to squeeze out of all of this thoughts. But somehow Sehun only felt worse, lonelier. His mind was made up, but Yifan denied it to the bone. So, he let himself sag against the older man, a choked sob forcing it's way from his throat. If it made Yifan feel better, because then it was okay, right?

Yifan shook his head, a dry laugh in the back of his throat. He should have known. The poor kid just seemed so beat down by the world, how could he expect everything to turn out great? Yifan took a long drag on his cigarette, his body completely numb from the cold and painful thoughts scurrying through his head. Snow threaded itself through his unsightly blonde bedhead, his toes curled and uncurled through the snow that was packed down beneath him, he didn’t feel any of it. He simply watched with a face as empty and white as the city before him, the ashes of his cigarette crumbling from the stick and fluttering to the ground. Almost identical to the way Sehun did.

Yifan, not exactly an optimist, knew things wouldn’t be good forever. He helped picked Sehun up, glue him back together, and assisted in pulling him from his dark mind into the bright, warm world that surrounded them. Obviously not, he thought bitterly. Apparently, he didn’t pull him out far enough, because Sehun, in the middle of those dark nights when he thought Yifan was fast asleep, would always sneak out with Yifan’s cigarettes and climb up on the roof. Dangerously close to the edge, he would always lean forward, not stopping until his body reflexively jerked him back. Disappointment would ring through his small body, he couldn’t even be brave enough to face the unkind street below. He wouldn’t climb back up though. Instead, he’d pull out a cigarette, and smoke it slowly, letting it burn his tongue as he shut his eyes. There’s always tomorrow, right? Why rush when it all leads to nothing?

Unfortunately for them both, Yifan wasn’t asleep. He could always feel the minor shift of the bed as Sehun’s slight frame tried to flee. Yifan had become such a light sleeper since Sehun had moved in. His body naturally tuned in on Sehun. He awoke every time he heard the boy cry in the middle of the night or slipped out. It was as if his senses were never quite relaxed. The only time he was fully asleep was when he had Sehun trapped in his warm, tight embrace. He knew he wouldn’t try to leave when he held him, but Yifan could only hold him on certain nights. Sometimes the younger pushed him away, others he was too sad to be bothered. It was like walking on eggshells with Oh Sehun in the house. Unlike Yifan, Sehun hadn’t exactly mastered the careful steps and quiet aspect of secret emotions like the older man.

He followed him every time Sehun snuck out. Although he knew exactly where he was going, what he was doing, he just wanted to know how the clockwork adventure would play out. Usually it was the exact same thing every time. He’d climb on the ledge and lean further and further until he jerked back, and with a look of disappoint and disgust, would sit down and smoke a cigarette. This happened for almost eight months, becoming a ritual of sorts, and now as Yifan stood in the same spot Sehun did, he regretted letting Sehun “work it out” on his own.

More ash fluttered away into the dark night as Yifan moved closer to the ledge, the thigh of his sweatpants pushed against the cold metal rail as he tried to see exactly what Sehun must have seen. Maybe he saw something different every time he climbed on his perch? Maybe that’s why he kept climbing up there? Yifan tried to rationalize the entire thing to himself every time he watched curiously through the crack in the steel door, but he always knew why Sehun did what he did. He just didn’t want to accept it.

Sometimes, when Sehun would return inside, his cold hands clutching the pack of cigarettes like they were the only reason he was returning home, Yifan would meet him in the forgotten stairwell. His arms wide and eyes forgiving to the fragile younger boy, who didn’t even hesitate to bury himself in Yifan’s slight chest. They spent a lot of their free time in the stairwell, coloring it with vivid memories. It was a place away from prying eyes and lurking ears. Just the two of them, unfolding in front of each other and showing their softest sides. Until Sehun showed up, that was the only place Yifan would cry so he wouldn’t have to worry about others seeing him. After Sehun’s abrupt arrival, it wasn’t that stairwell that Yifan felt safe it, it was Sehun. Anywhere the petite blonde was, Yifan knew he was free and open. After Sehun left, Yifan just didn’t cry.

Their relationship was never quite distinguished. To be honest, they didn’t even know what they were. Friends? Lovers? Two guys, both fucked up, trying to help each other out? Once Sehun was gone, Yifan spent too many nights on the roof staring off in the distance with useless questions lodged into his brain, swimming around in search of some sort of eye opening answer.

"What would you do if I took you to meet my parents?" Yifan's head was in Sehun's lap as they sat on the roof, staring up at the darkening city sky.

Sehun's hands froze in his hair, one fingernail digging into his scalp, before they slowly came back to life. He avoided eye contact with Yifan, his lower lip sucked into his mouth as he acted like he didn't hear the question.

Yifan reached out a cold hand and softly ran his index finger over Sehun's snow white cheek before caressing the side of his face. His eyes narrowed in on the pale face above him, noticing how he seemed to look anywhere but his eyes.

"I want you to meet my parents. I told them about you." A definite statement.

Suddenly, Yifan was being pushed to the ground as Sehun jumped to his feet. He looked like a trapped animal, terrified of the slightest bit of movement. He stared up at the man who looked no older than twelve in the dimming sunlight and panicked expression.

"Listen, you don't ha--" but he was cut off immediately by Sehun's hurried words.

"We're not dating. I don't love you. I never have and I never will. I'm not meeting your parents because I'm not going to pretend to be apart of your happy little perfect family. You and I both know how that would end," his words came out less threatening than he intended. Instead, they were almost upset.

Like a child who knows they can't afford a new toy and tell their parents they don't want it so they won't have to find money for it. The look of pure innocence and genuine concern. Yifan felt his heart begin to beat faster at the sight.

Staring up at Sehun, Yifan climbed to his knees, slowly reaching his hand out towards the time bomb before him, "You don't have to, you know that."

Sehun took a step back, his chest still.

"I don't know why you care so much," and he turned on his heel and ran.

The slam of the door hitting the wall echoing on the empty roof remained long after it ended. Yifan stared with his jaw dropped slightly and brows furrowed in confusion. He didn't know what he did wrong. His heart ached in his chest and his mouth was dry. A feeling that seemed to come specially packaged with Sehun.

Yifan knew Sehun was sensitive to questions like that, his cocktail of pills and whatever else he threw in not exactly helping. It wasn’t a secret that the younger boy was on something, with his jumpy personality and crazy mood swings. Personally, he would have been more bothered if Sehun was completely sober. But it made Yifan wonder if the time he had spent with Sehun was actually the boy and not a drug created person residing in Sehun’s beautiful body. Who did he plan on spending his life with? Sehun or the drug induced, emotionally traumatized Sehun who loved too fast and hated too easily?

His cigarette had long since crumbled away as Yifan was lost in thought. He knew he shouldn’t have come up here. There were only a handful of occasions when both Yifan and Sehun were on the roof together, and usually they were spent with soft, sweet kisses in between drags on their cigarettes.

Occasionally, they would end up having small heart to hearts, allowing the other to see all the things eating away at their insides. It was a silent understanding that the things they told each other, as they sat up on that barren rooftop, basking in the sun, Yifan leaning against the rail with Sehun’s head in his lap, that nothing they told each other in these moments could be thrown back up in the other’s face. It was their way of catharsis, a way to pick themselves up and keep fighting in the world. In a way, it did help them put on a fake smile until they could come back to each other and not have to worry about being strong.

Yifan hadn’t crumbled at all since Sehun left. He picked himself up and kept going, not missing a beat with life. Somewhere deep inside, he knew the moment he stopped moving the pain of Sehun being torn from his life would bring him to his knees, unable to move. And that thought alone was enough to keep him going. Sehun always said Yifan was the one solid thing in his life that he could always lean on, and despite Yifan’s obvious objections (after all, he had shamefully broken down and sobbed in front of the younger boy dozens of times during the course of their relationship, how was he the strong one?) he had hoped to at least put on the front that he was strong and sturdy. That people could depend on him.

Maybe if Sehun came back he would see Yifan strong and sturdy, and promise to not leave him again?

It had been three months. Three months since Sehun walked out of his life. Or maybe fell out of his life? In those three months Yifan had relived every memory with Sehun. He searched through them, digging for anything that he could have done better. Anything he could have done to stop this. After a while, he stopped digging. Finally he got to a point where he just wanted to stop blaming himself, he wanted to stop finding reasons to blame himself. But he kept finding more reasons and not enough excuses.

Cigarette pack still clutched in his large hand, Yifan ran an exhausted hand through his hair. And for a brief moment in reminded him of the way Sehun used to. On the days Yifan came home stressed from work to find a wide eyed Sehun on the couch, immediately offering the other a spot leaning against him, he was so thankful for Sehun being there. He was thankful for the way Sehun gently pried into his mind as his fingers wove themselves through his hair, causing his body to sag in exhaustion, as his lips betrayed him and spilled all of their secrets.

Other times, they would wake up late entangled in each other’s embraces and skip school and work, just to stay at home with each other. They would eat cold leftovers from the fridge and spend the day napping and lazily kissing on the couch. Occasionally watching reruns of old dramas, which neither one of them wanted to admit they were incredibly fond of.

To this day, Yifan won’t say he loved Sehun. It was a few months after Sehun showed up desperately needing a place to go and although his friendship with Yifan was distant, he knew he wouldn’t say no, and the pair adjusted easily to having someone to live with. But sometimes, they just got under each other’s skin. They occasionally fought, but there was one fight that was different. The amount of pure emotion that was shoved into their harsh words was a therapist’s wet dream. And the memory never seemed to leave his head.

"Goddammit, Sehun! You can’t just expect things to just fall in place! You have to work for things in life like the rest of us! You’re born, you work, you die, and that’s how it goes!" A line Yifan later regretted so much more than he thought he would, but he spat it out with such anger towards the stone-faced boy in his kitchen who refused to look up from whatever the hell it was that he was stirring.

"This is how I’ve done things my whole life, and you’re not going to change it," was the simple reply that fell from Sehun’s barely moving lips.

"How’s that working out for you seeing as how you ended up at some guy’s doorstep begging for him to take you in?" Sehun’s brows furrowed, and his hand stuttered but he stayed silent, "And now what are you going to do? You’re just going to sit and pout, like you always do? You’re going to act like you don’t care, like it doesn’t bother you."

Yifan moved closer to Sehun, his eyes boring holes in the back of the younger man’s head, his mouth moving, but his brain not registering what he was saying

“Why did you even leave your parents’ house to begin with? Did they love your sister more than you? Did they not buy you enough for Christmas? You only think about yourself. This entire—what would you even call this?—relationship has been about you. You’re the only thing we ever talk about. You and your pitiful little problems. You’re fucked up, Oh Sehun. Literally and figuratively. But so is everyone else. The entire fucking world is fucked up, but you only fucking care about you,” the words poured from Yifan’s lips, his sleep deprived brain too dense to stop him while he was ahead.

He grabbed Sehun’s scrawny arm, turning to boy to face him. His large hands cupped Sehun’s face, making him look at up at him. Yifan’s voice softened, but his words grew harsher.

“It’s always about you. You can’t pull your head out of your ass long enough to realize the world doesn’t revolve around you or me or anyone. We’re unimportant. No one is going to remember us when we’re dead. We’re going to rot in the ground, become dinner for a few worms, and that’s that. No one gives a shit if your nose is too big or if you’ve gotten fat. You go on and on about all of your problems, but no one is ever going to remember them. You’re alone in this world. Staying at home bitching about life isn’t going to change anything. You take your fucking pills like candy, and think about it, does it really make anything better? You’re a spoiled little brat, Sehun. You expect everyone to sit and listen to you, but we all have better things to fucking do. Get over yourself.” Tears ran over Yifan’s thumbs, not realizing how hard he was squeezing the younger man, or the true cruelty of his words.

Sehun’s cheeks were red where Yifan’s thumbs had pushed a little too hard, large handprints taking up the sides of his pale face. Yifan couldn’t tell why he was crying, but he felt something twist inside of him. Something comparable to pity, disgust, and maybe a twinge of guilt.

“You’re a fucking dick,” Sehun spat back, eyes glossy and bloodshot. “You fucking begged me to stay with you, I just wanted one fucking night, and you moved me in. You knew I was messed up. You knew what you were dealing with, and now you come out of nowhere bitching about it. You’re not better than I am. You just have fewer excuses. You’re the one who needs to grow the fuck up, Yifan. I don’t…I don’t need this right now,” Sehun’s voice cracked, and he turned on his heal leaving the room.

Yifan wished he would have stopped there, but he followed, screaming anything he knew would hurt him. He didn’t remember what was said after that, or what even started the stupid fight. It didn’t matter. By this point, he was angry. Every little problem he had been bottling down had finally bubbled over the surface and all he wanted to do was get up and leave. He would have been more than content to never come back, never see the blonde who was locked in his bathroom, most likely rocking on the floor waiting for his meds to kick in. That thought placed firmly in his mind, he left, slamming the door tightly behind him. Something similar to shutting the door on their relationship that struggled daily to survive.

Yifan didn’t return home for three days.

Every morning as he stumbled from bed—the word bed used very loosely as it was usually a pile of sheets on his high school best friend’s floor—the first thing that came to mind was the broken shell of a person, beautifully named Oh Sehun.

But every night he’d let Sehun slip from his thoughts as he struggled to find comfort on the hard ground beneath him. If it weren’t for Sehun, he could be happily in his own bed; if it weren’t for Sehun, he could be wrapped around the younger man instead of clutching his knees and pulling them to his chest.

It’s funny how in a few months the man became a much bigger part of Yifan’s life than he could ever imagine. And that thought was what pushed him to wake up the next morning.

When Yifan finally returned to his apartment, he expected to be greeted by cold and emptiness, instead he was shocked when Sehun threw himself into Yifan’s arms sobbing. The younger man pressed his face to the elder’s chest, hiccupping sobs ebbing through his frail body. Yifan could barely make out what he was saying. He caught bits and pieces of things that sounded like broken apologies and sorrowful pleas. ‘Please don’t leave’, ‘I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have’, and the list continued. All Yifan could really do was clutch the man to his chest and litter the top of his head with kisses and promises.

Soon they were clutching each other tighter, making up for lost time as their lips found each other’s and Yifan walked them to the bedroom. His large hands were splayed across Sehun’s narrow hips as he guided the younger backwards. Sehun’s legs hit the bed, causing him to fall back on the bed. He stared up at Yifan, lips parted, eyes filled with heartbreak and worry. As if he thought Yifan wouldn’t ever comeback.

Being the older of the two, Yifan had to make it up to the younger man. He kissed and nipped, soft and gentle. Everything Sehun deserved.

It wasn’t their first or last time, but it definitely had a lot more meaning in it than any other. It had more passion. Two souls searching desperately for anything that could make them a little less lonely. They needed each other more than they could explain. They needed that connection.

Every movement was done with something deeper and more meaningful behind it. The way Yifan’s hips rolled, pushing him deeper into Sehun as the younger mewled and sobbed in need and desire was fueled by the unspoken feelings that the older was even too scared to touch on. His desperate clutch on the sheets on either side of the younger’s head as the shy tears that dripped from his eyes rolling down, and mixing with Sehun’s, causing the younger to whimper in Yifan’s mouth. Their kiss was gentle and probing. As if this were the first time they ever sat down to actually kiss. This was how Yifan wanted sex with Sehun. He had wanted it to be filled with passion, instead of teenage lust. He wanted it to be filled with love.

Yifan coated every inch of Sehun’s skin with warm kisses, placing extra on the scars and marks that lingered on his pale white skin. Marks and scars of Sehun’s youth that he always brushed off as “When you’re ready to die, Yifan, you’re ready to die,” and it only made him want to love the white faced boy even more. That was the first time Yifan cried during sex. It was also the last time. The pair never once spoke of the salty tears that mixed with their sweat and spit while they struggled to regain balance in their unstable life, unstable relationship, and unstable minds.

The memory brought a crooked, forlorn smirk to Yifan’s now chapped lips. He didn’t really know what he expected from the younger man. It wasn’t as if he was the most stable when he arrived at his doorstep, sobbing about so many things Yifan couldn’t manage to wrap his head around. Did Yifan really think he could make Sehun happy enough to stay? The most he did was prolong the inevitable. He made it last long enough to completely shatter his world when Sehun was gone.

The snow had stopped, and the wind seemed to still. Yifan shakily pulled out another cigarette, replacing the one that had crumbled away a few minutes before.

In the back of his head, he vaguely acknowledged the fact he should go in, go back to bed. He knew he had to drag himself out of his numbing depression and face the real world, but the heavy feeling in his body was enough to make him stop caring, at least for another few minutes. The stick hung lazily between his lips, burning the cracked, dry skin. Yifan could feel the circles beneath his eyes darkening and his thoughts slipped further away, as if they were trying to reach Sehun.

The day Sehun left Yifan, his life had crumbled. Everything had passed in a blur of black and white, all color leaving the world as his mind tried to wrap around the fact that he was now completely alone. Another insignificant soul without a purpose or path, just struggling to make it through the day without collapsing on the street or casually stepping in front of a bus. But he kept going for Oh Sehun. Maybe it was the desire to be strong even when his heart was shattering more with every step or a deep bitter hatred he felt boiling in his gut for what Sehun had done, but he kept going. Every footstep a sign he might be able to get over it. And every footstep killing him a little more.

With a sigh, Yifan exhaled, watching his breath and smoke dance to their own rhythm into the night sky, before putting his cigarette out in the snow on the ledge. He watched the steam rise from the fire and ice, blinking slowly as the two elements reminded him horribly of his past relationship. His stomach dropped and he was met with an overwhelming feeling of vertigo as he struggled to remain on his feet. Large hands clutched the railing, allowing himself to lean slightly until his chest rested on the bar.

Yifan’s eyes fluttered, a sudden exhaustion covering him like the snow covered the city. He struggled to steady himself. When he finally peeled his eyes open, he was looking at the vertical drop down the side of the building, the same vertical drop Sehun saw too many times. His stomach churned and his breathing began to quicken, the adrenaline and feelings that flooded his brain making him slowly fall to his knees.

The sound that filled the night air was something between a curse and cry, half Korean and half Mandarin, and completely involuntary. He had stopped moving. He had stopped moving long enough for the feelings to catch up, long enough for Sehun to catch up. Yifan’s hands slowly slid from the bar they were clutched to, letting gravity push them to the snow covered ground. They were lax, causing the pack of cigarettes to slide from his grip and fall. The breeze picked up, catching the half empty pack, and pushing it closer and closer to the edge.

It teetered, momentarily, the wind going still. It was the last pack of cigarettes Sehun had smoked from. The morning Sehun left, the disoriented blonde woke up to find them on the nightstand beside him, the sides slightly crinkled where the younger had obviously squeezed them just a little too tight. Neither of them even liked smoking, Sehun always insisted if he weren’t with Yifan he wouldn’t be a smoker. He also insisted he was happy.

“Wait,” he said to the wind as he lunged suddenly, reaching for his connection to the man who he thought was going to stay in his life.

As if on a queue, the wind picked up again, giving the package a small push. A small push. Just light enough to make it tumble towards the ground.

It was as if something cracked inside Yifan’s sleep exhausted, disoriented brain. The cigarettes being the final step towards his inevitable self annihilation. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t simply go downstairs and pick them up, dust the snow off the them and return the package to its home in his nightstand drawer, but somehow that didn’t seem like an option.

There was a bit of Sehun in the pack, his last piece of heaven, and watching it slip from his grasp and fall into the unknown made his heart clench. With a shaky breath, his face began to contort, pain, agony, confusion all mixing together on his gaunt face. His eyes shut, and he folded over on himself, arms coming to wrap around his narrow body. A sob filled the chilled night air, and it took Yifan a few minutes to realize that it was him.

Disgust welled up in his stomach, working up to his throat, but he couldn’t stop the tears from pouring down his cheeks. The salty water burned as it glided down his bitterly cold skin and dripped off his sharp chin. He hadn’t cried in months, he hadn’t want to cry, but he couldn’t stop the realization that overcame him.

He didn’t know why Sehun left, he really didn’t. The kid had problems, everyone knew it, but there were worse problems. There was always someone who was worse off. But Oh fucking Sehun wouldn’t listen. He wouldn’t listen, and he wouldn’t let anyone in.

The more he delved into the thoughts, opening the box even more, the harder Yifan’s sobs were.

Memories of every side and color of Sehun filled his brain, making his stomach twist and churn, stomach acid burning as it began to climb Yifan’s throat. His sobs were pitiful and pathetic to his own ears, and he swore if he had the strength he would’ve just fallen off the rooftop right there. But there was something holding him back. A feeling.

Clenching his jaw and shutting his eye, Yifan tried to clear his mind of everything. Every inch of Sehun’s pale skin. The look on Sehun’s face as he orgasmed. His flushed cheeks when he was sick. The glazed look in his eyes when he tried to overdose and drown himself in the tub.

He wasn’t surprised. Sehun wanted out so fucking bad.

But the blonde never considered maybe Yifan wanted out too.

Sehun never thought of anyone but himself. He was selfish and self centered and all he wanted was someone to show him he deserved so much more than what he had gotten. But Yifan had his own life. And he was so indescribably angry.

Out of all of the emotions that poured from his body, the sheer amount of anger surpassed everything else. Yifan tried. He really tried to love the younger man. To express his love for the younger man. But all Sehun wanted was to push Yifan away, to reject him, hurting both of them more than they realized. Yifan couldn’t stand the feeling in his body as he smashed his fist against the packed snow and solid cement. He screamed anything he could think of, mostly “Sehun” and “Come back to me”.

He didn’t move. Yifan wasn’t entirely sure how long he laid sobbing in the snow, bloody hand frozen and clutched to his chest, and body too fatigued and heavy to move. His eyes were half shut, breath gleaming in the darkness, and for a split second, he thought it formed Sehun’s disapproving face.

Yifan wasn’t sure how he ended up in his bed, hand nicely bandaged and heart completely numb, but he didn’t question it. He didn’t question anything. Life didn’t stop because he did.

He slipped into a pattern. The tall Chinese man simply began going through the motions, not feeling, not thinking, simply obediently doing what needed to be done. Days blended together, passing by in an uneventful haze as he struggled to keep his head above water and keep moving. Every fiber of his being so tightly wound he was sure he would fall apart with any form of hesitation.

The apartment wasn’t the same since Sehun had left. It was as if everything that was once filled with life was now dead and hollow. Yifan simply dragged himself through his life, not even attempting to force a smile or faux happiness. Food wasn’t a priority anymore. Living was more of a hassle than anything. But he kept moving. He did the one thing Sehun couldn’t.

It ripped him to pieces bit by bit. Somewhere he had convinced himself that if he kept moving Sehun would appear at his door again, needing to be fixed and loved, and Yifan would be able to do it right this time. It was January that Yifan stumbled across Sehun’s medications, nestled comfortably in the back of the medicine cabinet. Disgust briefly crawled into him before it was stifled down by Yifan’s exhaustion. He heard Sehun’s voice fill his brain as he remembered the younger listing off the amazing things his medicine did for him.

The logical part of Yifan’s brain told him to flush them down the toilet. The desperate part told him to take every pill.

And he took every single one.

Yifan peered over the edge of the roof. His tie was loosened around his neck and jacket was draped over the railing that he perched against. The June air was sticky and humid, making the stiff material of his suit cling to his crawling skin. He had a cigarette in his dry mouth, smoke oozing off the tip as if the air were too thick for it to flow freely.

He felt the same. Trapped, confined, weighed down.

Something had changed the night on the roof. Yifan realized that the moment he was forced to look in the mirror at his withering form. The moment he had to look his mother in the eye. The moment he was forced to accept what had truly happened.

It was as if life simply weren’t worth the effort he put into it. He spent all of his free time on the roof or in a pill induced slumber. The only time he actually left the house was for his dead end job that sucked any source of life from his already pitiful, weak body. His days were spent thinking of Sehun and wondering when he could go home, get into his bed, and sleep just to be with the younger again.

It was the only time he felt any true joy, when he was wrapped up in his blanket of painkillers and antidepressants that the blonde happily left behind for the older, realizing he would need them sooner or later. Yifan didn’t want his life to end up like this. He was at least stable and okay before Sehun, but the damage the younger caused took too much of a toll. Without Sehun around Yifan simply didn’t know how to live or manage. It took him seven months after he left to realize how much he truly loved everything about the younger. The way he gasped Yifan’s name during sex or how he curled into the older when he was complaining about work. Every single thing he did made the larger man’s heart burn with adoration but it took him seven months too long to realize it.

Yifan sighed, letting his body relax against the rail as he watched the people below moving excitedly through the streets below. They were so happy and filled with life. It reminded him of Sehun. Everything reminded him of Sehun.

He paused for a moment. Inhaling on his cigarette as he contemplated the decision before him. Did he want to be that close to Sehun?

Without a moment wasted, Yifan climbed up the railing, balancing himself on the slick metal. He looked down, arms spread wide for balance and watched as the people grew smaller while he grew taller. A warmth spread throughout his body, and a smile climbed onto his wry face. He never truly understood what Sehun must have felt. Sehun was determined to die, every extra step he took making him want to blow his brains out without a second thought. But Yifan hadn’t ever been that deep. He always looked for the bright side, the happy ending. He never realized this was his happy ending.

The sun was crawling behind the buildings and a gentle breeze began to blow through the sweltering city. It wrapped itself around Yifan, unsure if it wanted to help or hinder him. He simply smiled at the touch, remembering how soft and gentle Sehun’s touch was. The gentle graze of the younger’s fingers when he wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted, but he knew Yifan would figure it out and give it to him. A contented hum filled his throat, and he shut his eyes. With suddenly graceful hands, he removed the cigarette from his lips, exhaling once more. Letting the smoke and strength leave his body as he finally accepted what was going to happen. He hadn’t felt so happy and relaxed for months.

Letting the cigarette fall from his hands, he opened his eyes just to watch it’s tumble to the ground. It was as if nothing could touch him. All the people below his feet were so tiny and insignificant, their problems are cares so minor that he doubted they were even worth the stress. Yifan felt like this was where he was meant to be. Watching all the people below him.

A soft, warm sensation cupped his cheek, as if it were a palm caressing him after a long day at work. With a whimper, he shut his eyes and leaned into it, mind immediately expecting to be met with a prying kiss from Sehun’s round, pink lips.

The feeling didn’t leave as he lost his footing. It simply engulfed his body until the only thing he felt was the young man who had brought him this far.

Yifan was already in Sehun’s arms by the time his body collided with the pavement

It was the last thing he felt.

 

  


**Author's Note:**

> this was my sad fic and i really only wrote it when i was sad and it is my child.


End file.
